


Awake, We Wait

by beerecordings



Category: jacksepticeye
Genre: Anti as a Hallucination, Don't copy to another site, Electrocution, Losing sanity, Magic, Poetry as a Coping Mechanism, Protective Marvin, Sleep Deprivation, Strong Language, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 16:06:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19232464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beerecordings/pseuds/beerecordings
Summary: Marvin and Chase are kidnapped by the head of a crime ring who's looking for their brother, the vigilante Blue Mask. Determined to protect Chase but unwilling to give up Jackie, Marvin endures long nights awake - a form of torture intended to draw the truth out of him no matter how much it hurts. And all Chase can do is watch.





	Awake, We Wait

They're going to be tortured.  
It's obvious. Duct tape and rope on the desk. Pliers, belts, buckets, rebar rods, and a hose beside them. A drain on the floor.  
Marvin hisses low through his teeth, glaring at the pane of one-way glass that separates him from his enemies. Chase sinks lower in his arms, hiding his face against his shoulder, and Marvin grips him tight, running a soothing hand through his hair, guilt and fury pooling, tepid, in his stomach.  
This is his fault. He wasn't careful enough. How long had they been tracking him for? He should have known. He should have seen. He should never have stopped his tarot card readings, never mind that they made him “edgy” or “paranoid” or “restlessly desperate to change the course of the future” in the words of a certain familiar doctor. He'd rather be paranoid than snatched off the street with his little brother in tow. They thought he was Jackie. It's not fair. It's not his fault. Marvin sets his chin on Chase's head, his blue eyes flashing.  
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” Chase is groaning through gritted teeth. There's blood on his face from the blow that knocked him unconscious. Marvin can hardly bear how angry it makes him. He concentrates hard on the door, trying his best to set it on fire, but his magic is wild and undirectable without his playing cards, and apparently he's got nothing to give right now.  
It's just him. It's just him and his Chase.  
“You're going to be okay,” he tells his little brother.  
His voice is cool and clipped. He strokes his thumb across the back of Chase's neck.  
“I'm sorry I'm a coward,” Chase whispers. “I'm sorry I'm not Jackie.”  
Marvin decides not to tell him that if he were Jackie they'd both be dead already.  
“You're not a coward. Don't be afraid. I'm not going to let them hurt you.”  
Correction: he's going to be tortured.  
But not Chase.  
Not Chase.  
Alright. Marvin cracks his neck and growls as the door clicks open, his canines sharp in his mouth. _Let's do this. Not my first time around this track. They don't call me magnificent for nothing. Pain's just neurons. Torture's just weakness made into violence. And blood is just blood._

“I'm going to ask you one more time,” says the man with the belt.  
He has a face like a rat and his eyes are the color of sludge and Marvin hates him.  
“Where's the Blue Mask?”  
Marvin spits blood and draws his mouth into a smile that snarls. “Probably getting more of your buddies incarcerated, Markowitz. Face it, jerk-off – your organization's crashing down around you and all it took was me and my brother running around in capes and masks to send it into death throes.”  
The belt comes for his face this time, and the sting is worse than any bug or needle, sending hot red agony through Marvin's cheek, as though he'd been branded by iron. He can't hold back a scream.  
“Leave him the fuck alone!” screams Chase, tied to a chair in the corner. “Leave him alone, let us go! When my brother finds you, you're going to wish you were never born!”  
Yes, Jackie will be angry. Marvin smirks up at his captor, who returns his look with a glare to melt winters. Marvin understands that he is looking at a murderer.  
“My brother's going to kill you,” he announces, sing-song. “The Blue Mask is coming, he's coming! Oh, Mr. Markowitz, pray to your gods and settle your debts, my brother is coming.”  
Markowitz draws back the belt and Marvin flinches, but the blow never falls. Instead, his captor leans down and reaches out, gripping Marvin's chin tight enough to bruise and locking their gazes together.  
“You are a bold thing, aren't you, White Cat?”  
He has an accent Marvin can't place. Markowitz is one of a dozen names he goes by. They've been tracking him for weeks, and Marvin knows he ought to be afraid. This is a crime boss, not a late-night mugger with a shaky gun, and the things Marvin knows he's done – they aren't pretty.  
“Well, we'll figure out a way to get what we need.”  
“Fuck you,” Marvin snaps.  
“So this is one of your brothers, huh? Twins, that's cute. What's your name, kid?”  
“Don't look at him,” snarls Marvin, watching him turn to Chase.  
“Yeah, don't look at me.” Chase is emboldened by his brother's ferocity. Markowitz steps forward and Chase does his utmost not to tremble.  
“I'm guessing you know where the Blue Mask is, don't you, twin?”  
It takes Chase too long to get the word “no” out. Markowitz laughs.  
“You'll tell us, little man. No doubt about that.”  
“I'll never tell you anything.” Chase struggles against the ropes on his wrists. “I'll die first.”  
He's not stupid. He understands the consequences of telling them just fine. With the element of surprise over Jackie, they'd swarm into the house and kill him, and Jameson, and Henrik, and if they didn't find Jack, there'd be no one to care for him and he'd die in his sleep anyway. No, Chase needs Jackie to find them, to save them. He knows that he will. He trusts his big brothers. He's never let him down before.  
He also understands the consequences of his refusal. If he's going to be tortured – fine, torture him. He's scared, but he's determined. Their lives are not a fair trade for his own.  
His brothers are all that matters.  
Markowitz stands back, looming over him like a monolith. “Nah, kiddo,” he says, reaching into his suit jacket to get a cigarette. “You're not going to die. Tell you what, twin, I promise right now I won't lay a damn hand on you. But your brother's not getting off that easy. I'll beat him to shit, torture him until he's begging me to end his miserable life, and then we'll see how eager the two of you are to tell me where the Mask is.”  
Markowitz turns to the one-way glass, lighting fire between his teeth. “Get in here and truss this little brat up like a carcass in a meat fridge. I think we're going to have to cancel all the cat-naps from here on out. Hope you got a good night's sleep, kitty. You're not going to get another one ever again.”  
_Ah,_ Marvin realizes, his heart fluttering in his chest. _Sleep deprivation._  
This is going to be fun.

They set up a little cot for Chase. Clear the room of their weapons and even bring them both water and a little food when a few hours have passed.  
But Marvin doesn't get to be relieved.  
He's tied up, hanging by his wrists from the ceiling, and fuck, these guys must be experts, because he can tell they've hit specific pressure points just to make it as painful as possible. His whole body aches within five minutes of being hung up like this. After hours, it's become a steady and horrible fire throughout his bones, and if he doesn't keep his head lifted and his toes on the ground, pain becomes excruciation. He shakes like a shot fox, panting just to make his chest move, reciting poetry in his head to give him anything to focus on besides the hurt.  
“How are you doing?” asks Chase, softly.  
He's not allowed to touch him. They found that out pretty quickly. For every place where Chase tried to support his body, soothe his wounds, or give him physical comfort, there is the bright red band of the belt striking Marvin's body.  
“Okay,” Marvin says, clearing his throat and opening his eyes. Chase sits at his feet, pale and anxious. “I've always wanted the full piñata experience.”  
“Wow.” Chase is trying not to laugh. Marvin's just glad to see the blood's been wiped off his face. “The sarcasm.”  
“I'm not sarcastic ever, Chase. Will you get me some more water?”  
Chase hurries to his feet and brings back a paper cup full of water, lifting it to his brother's mouth. It hurts to swallow.  
“Marv?” asks Chase.  
“Yes, honey.”  
“How long do you think it will take Jackie to find us?”  
Marvin swallows again and does his best to lift his head up. He smiles.  
“Not long, right? You know Jackie. Probably about to burst through that door any minute now.”  
But he doesn't.  
The night passes.  
Marvin does not sleep.

Marvin spits water from his mouth, vomit rising up with it. His soaked hair hangs down around his head and his whole body drizzles chilly water.  
“You want to go to sleep? You want a break? Just tell me where the Mask is, kitten.”  
He's been up for what, about thirty-six hours? Please. Like that's going to break him.  
They spray him with the hose again and Marvin grits his teeth down on a scream, his body jerking uselessly against the ropes. The pressure on the water is high enough to leave marks across his body, patterning his black and purple bruises with red.  
Chase has long since given up shouting at them to stop. He sits huddled in the corner, his hands tied up, gripping anxiously at his clothes, refusing to cry. Occasionally, Markowitz's men turn to smile at him, to see him in distress, but all he does is glare back, his mouth set and his eyes angry.  
Marvin doesn't talk. They fuck with him for hours. He chants Angelou to himself and refuses to scream.  
“Where's your brother?” they ask.  
He lifts his eyes up to them, smiling. “Did you want to see me broken?” he recites sweetly. “Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, weakened by my soulful cries?”  
“Shut this kid up,” groans one of the men. They come forward with duct tape.  
“Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'cause I laugh like I got gold mines – ”  
They tape his mouth. He laughs beneath the gag and closes his eyes as the pressure hits him again and again, singing freedom poetry in his head.  
That's how they keep him up the second night, the cold water striking him like fire again and again and again. Chase tries to stay awake, as he stayed awake the first night, to give his brother some comfort, but he collapses into unconsciousness on his little cot around four in the morning, and when he wakes up at noon, Jackie has still not come.  
And Marvin has still not slept.

“He must not be able to find us,” Chase whimpers, pacing in front of Marvin, playing with his hands.  
Marvin groans, trying to order his thoughts. It's becoming increasingly hard to think. He doesn't know why they're doing anything they're doing. He just wants to go to bed. “No, he'll find us,” he manages, trying to set his head down, only to be reminded of the horrible pain of the ropes tying him up. They've been readjusting the position of his body and the bindings every now and then, but it's only enough to let a little bit of feeling into his hands. “This guy's good, that's all. But Jackie knows his trade, he'll find us.”  
“I've got to do something.” Marvin thinks Chase is probably talking more to himself than to him, but he's just grateful to listen to his voice. “I can't just sit here while they torture you. I've got to get you some sleep. I've got to get you out of here.”  
“Chase,” Marvin says. He squints his eyes, pausing. It is Chase, right? For a second he looked like Henrik. Fuck, he'd give anything to have Henrik here right now, to take him down off the ropes and make all the pain stop. No, but then Henrik would have to be tortured too. Anyway, this is Chase. What were they talking about?  
“Can't you use some magic, Marv?” Chase pleads, pausing in his pacing to step close. He glances at the one-way glass, wishing he could see where his enemies were so he could sneak a few minutes of support for Marvin's body. “Fire or mind tricks or even some plants just to freak them out?”  
Magic, right. That's his thing. Like in Dickinson: 'To Tomes of solid Witchcraft – Magicians be asleep – But Magic hath an Element Like Deity – to keep – '  
“Marv!” Chase brings him back to reality and his eyes flutter open. “Bud, you gotta stay with me. If they see you falling asleep they'll come in here and spray with that fucking hose again.”  
“Right,” hums Marvin, refocusing. “Sorry, man, I – I need my cards. Magic has an element... it's so wild without my cards, I can't just lash out or you'll get hurt too.”  
Marvin becomes distantly aware that Chase is crying. Distress jolts him back to attention. “Oh, don't cry, Little Dipper. It's going to be okay.”  
“It's been almost three days and you haven't slept.” Chase's mouth trembles. “I wish they would give me a turn so you could have a break.”  
“No, I don't want that. I don't...” Well, he would like some sleep. But not at Chase's expense.  
“Maybe I could talk to them. Get you a break. Maybe I could – fuck, I don't know. I'll figure something out. I'll – ”  
Something moves in the corner of Marvin's vision and he jerks in his ropes, turning towards the movement, but whatever it was has already stopped moving. Chase is still talking, but Marvin can't even hear him over the pounding of his heart.  
He could have sworn that, just for an instant, he caught a glimpse of Antisepticeye.

He can't stay awake even with the ropes. He can't stay awake even with the water. They've slapped him, struck him, beat him, turned his legs blue from kicks and He is heavy, heavy, heavy. How long has he been up for? There is no light in their basement cell and time is now marked in Chase sleeping and bursts of intensity within the constant pain.  
He's given up on trying not to scream. Sometimes he screams just when he's alone with Chase, because he's scared and exhausted and he might be losing his mind. It makes Chase cry. He hates that, but he can't think clearly enough to offer him any comfort.  
Markowitz comes in personally again on Marvin's fifth day of consciousness. In his hand, there is a shock rod, the kind ranchers use to drive their cattle. “Hi there, boys,” he says, flicking it on and stepping close to Marvin. He hasn't bothered to tie Chase up again, and the little brother stands before his friend, his eyes narrow and full of hatred.  
“I hear the cat's been yowling,” says Markowitz, grinning brightly. “You ready to talk, White Cat?”  
Marvin swallows painfully. His body shakes. He can't find the right answer. He wants to say “yes,” but then again, he's lost track of what the question was to begin with.  
“No?” hums Markowitz. “You don't know? How about you, twin? Just tell me where Blue is and I'll let your buddy here lay down right there on that cot and get a good night's sleep. Won't touch either of you again. It'll all be over.”  
Jackie and Henrik and Jamie and Sean. Jackie and Henrik and Jamie and Sean. “I'll never tell you anything,” Chase hisses, but his fury is dimmed by his watering eyes.  
Markowitz shrugs, turning on the shock rod. “You will eventually,” he says, in a tone like they're discussing a board meeting this afternoon. “Someone get in here and tie this kid up.”  
Marvin's head keeps drooping down, his eyes fluttering shut. Every time, he gets a shock, and every time, he screams. Chase has begun screaming with him, protest and cursing and words of comfort for his brother, but none of it helps, none of it changes anything at all; he's never felt so helpless in his entire life –  
Markowitz shocks his brother again and Marvin screams, blue lines of bruising apparating where the blow falls on his bare ribs.  
“No more!” Marvin screams, his eyes rolling wildly in his head. He thrashes like he's in his death throes, blood trickling down from his over-burdened wrists. “No more! Please! No more! Please! No – ”  
“Where's your brother?” Markowitz snarls. “Tell me and I'll end it.”  
“Leave him alone!” Chase howls.  
“My brother – my brother – here and there and everywhere.” Marvin groans and shakes, yanking, yanking, yanking on the ropes. “My brother – which brother, I have so many.”  
“The Blue Mask,” growls Markowitz. “Where is he?”  
“He – he – our little house – ” Marvin pauses, breathing low and heavy. Once more, he drags his proud head up, and he looks his enemy in the eye. “Where's my brother? Don't you know? Already on his way here, coward.”  
Markowitz strikes him so savagely that Marvin's head snaps back and his whole body weight crashes onto the ropes, accompanied by a dull popping sound in his right shoulder. Marvin's mouth opens in an agony, his eyes burning a little bit too blue to be human, and he lets out a cry like a dog on the hunt. “Pain is just neurons!” he shrieks, and the grass that encircles the building that holds them begins to lengthen. Dandelions shove against cold concrete, threatening to break through the floor. “Torture is just weakness made into violence! And blood is just blood!”  
Fire explodes across the floor of the cell and now it is Markowitz's turn to scream, a cry of shock at the flames come to life around him. There's hollering in the next room over and extra men dart into the room, startled into action.  
With the hose in the room, it doesn't actually take them long to put the fire out. Markowitz is coughing and the room is full of smoke, but the only damage done is across Chase's calf, where his flesh is badly burned. He toppled his chair in his panic, and he lies across the floor, his teeth gritted hard and tears leaking from his eyes.  
In the middle of it all, hanging from the ceiling from blood-stained wrists and a dislocated shoulder, his body contorted into an unending agony, Marvin is asleep.  
Markowitz, still spitting out curses and trying to shake off his terror, comes forward with the shock rod again.  
“No,” cries Chase hoarsely. “No.”  
“All you have to do to make it stop,” Markowitz hisses out, shaking with fury. “Is tell me where your brother is.”  
“I can't,” Chase sobs. “No, no, no.”  
Marvin flickers back to consciousness. His dull eyes lock absently onto Chase's, and beneath his breath, he whispers Whitman.  
“'Touch me,'” he says, drifting. “'Touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass.'”  
“I'll keep him awake,” Chase promises, looking up at Markowitz. “Just let me touch him and I'll keep him awake.”  
Markowitz regains control of himself and the situation. A low smile grows dark on his mouth.  
“Well, twin,” he says. “I think that sounds like a lot of fun.”  
They untie Chase and they set a bucket on a table beneath Marvin's face. If his head falls too far, he will drown. Chase limps over to his brother and lets his head fall against his shoulder, weeping.  
“'Don't be afraid of my body.'” Marvin intones gently.

From then on, he is haunted.  
From then on, he is mad.  
He screams and thrashes. Chase does his best to keep him calm, but there's not much use.  
“Stay away from me!” he screams in his delirium, and his eyes glow but no power comes. He's too exhausted, too distressed, too confused. “You think you get to touch me, glitch? Stay away, stay away, stay away!”  
“It's me!” Chase begs him to recognize him. “It's me, please, Marv, it's okay, it's okay. Anti's not going to hurt you. Here I am.”  
He strokes his hair and brings him water and tries to keep him awake as gently as he can, but there's no gentle options left. He's been awake for a week and he is collapsing in on himself, shaking and moaning and crying, crying almost constantly. Chase doesn't think he's even aware of it.  
“Chase, Chase, it's just neurons!”  
“Okay, buddy, okay. Come here, stay awake.”  
“It's just weakness!”  
“I know. I'm sorry, Marv, I'm so sorry. Bud, you can't rest yet. Keep your eyes open.”  
“It's just – it's just – I want Jackie.” He bursts into sobbing. His face is white as a desert cloud and his eyes are shadowed so heavy in purple he looks like someone tried to use watercolors to paint him.  
“Me too,” whimpers Chase, pushing back his hair.  
Marvin's head collapses down into the bucket and Chase yelps, rescuing his face from the water. His eyes are rolled back in his head and his face is slack. He keeps dropping into these deep but second-long sleeps. Chase shakes him, but he doesn't wake.  
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Chase cries. If he doesn't keep him awake, Markowitz will do it will water and electricity. This is the only way. This is the only thing he can do. Keep Marvin awake and hope that Jackie will come.  
Chase slaps Marvin hard across the face.

He's saving Henrik.  
Or was it Jack?  
He's saving someone. That must be it. That must be how he came to be here. Otherwise, he would never have ended up in Anti's grip. He would never have let the demon get him otherwise. He would never have let someone sneak up on him and steal him away. He's a magician. He's powerful. Anti just got lucky. Marvin just got lazy. Pain is just neurons. Torture is just weakness in violence. Blood is just –  
“Stay awake,” Anti croons, low and sweet, his green eyes glittering in the darkness. He strikes Marvin sharply, sending pain bursting through his face.  
“Fucker,” Marvin chokes out, in a voice weak and rasping, and Anti laughs.  
Oh, he really doesn't feel well. He really, really doesn't feel well. His whole body's on fire and his brain – why can't he think straight? Why can't he think at all?  
“Why don't you just tell me what I want to know?” Anti asks. He steps back, towards a table, and picks up a knife, big and serrated, made for hunting and skinning deer or foxes. Marvin whimpers, terror drawing him back to consciousness. “This can all be over.”  
“I don't know what you want,” Marvin says, and he realizes he is crying, heavy and pathetic, snot and tears running down his bruised, exhausted face. “Chase knows, ask him. Please don't hurt me. I can't – I can't – Where's Jackie?”  
“I was wondering the same thing.” Anti shrugs, looking almost mournful. “Why doesn't he come? Why doesn't he save you? Doesn't he know I'm about to tear your flesh off?”  
Marvin weeps. Marvin weeps. Someone touches him. Someone holds him.  
“I'm right here,” whispers Chase, warm and close. “I'm right here, I'm right here, I'm right.”  
“Please,” Marvin begs. He doesn't know who he's begging. He doesn't know where he is or why this is happening. “Please, make this stop.”  
“I can't, I'm so sorry.”  
“Chase,” he groans. “Chase, tell them what they want to know.”  
“No, no, please don't say that, you know that I can't – ”  
“I need you to make this stop!” Marvin wails. “I need you, why won't you help me?”  
Chase's answer is distant and incomprehensible. Reality has betrayed him. Chase has betrayed him.  
“Bastard,” he spits out. “You're with them, aren't you?”  
“No, no, Marv, you know I wouldn't do that.”  
“You won't help me. I thought we were brothers. I've held you through your suicide days. I've loved you since the day you were created. Why are you doing this to me? Why won't you let me sleep? Chase, please, please. Chase, I'm begging you. Little brother. Little brother.”  
“It's all going to be okay soon. We're going to be okay once Jackie comes. We're going to be okay.”  
“Fuck, I hate you so fucking much. Don't you dare lay a goddamn finger on me. Little traitor! Little brat!”  
“No, no, please, I love you.”  
“Oh, honey, is that my little brother? Chaser, Chasey. I love you too, I love you so much. Oh, I burned you – I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry. Where are we, Chase? Can we go home? I'm so so tired, Little Dipper.”  
Desperate, Chase risks supporting his body for a few minutes, and Marvin makes a noise of pure relief and falls asleep against his head. The punishment for those short minutes comes from one of Markowitz's workers, who comes in, shoves Chase away, and, coolly and efficiently, shocks Marvin at the bottom of his throat until his whole collarbone is black.  
And still, Jackie does not come.

“Thinking, tangling shadows in the deep solitude,” Marvin whispers on day eight. “You are far away too, oh, farther than anyone.”  
It's Neruda, a poet for love and revolution. Chase wonders if it's better to let him stay in his head or to try and draw him out. In the end, he only stands before him, soft and resolute, and tells him, again and again, “I'm right here, buddy.”  
“Your presence is foreign, as strange to me as a thing. The shout facing the sea, among the rocks, running free, mad, in the sea-spray.”  
“I'm right here, Marv. I'm not going anywhere.”  
“The sad rage, the shout, the solitude of the sea!” Marvin's voice breaks and his head drops down. Chase, eyes dripping, reaches out and lifts up his chin, brings him back to awakeness, to life.  
“You have to stay with me,” Chase weeps, touching his face. “Jackie's coming soon.”  
“It collapses, crackling. Fire, fire,” says Marvin, and then finishes the poem, his blue eyes dead and unseeing: “Who are you? Who are you?”  
Chase cries for a long time.  
“He's coming,” he promises Marvin. He has to give him hope. He has to keep him awake. He has to trust in his brothers. “Jackie's coming soon. Jackie's on his way.”  
He is.  
He's coming.  
He's angry.

Markowitz crashes into the room and Chase is up, on his feet, immediately, standing protective in front of his brother, holding up his head.  
Markowitz holds a gun.  
“Move,” he orders shortly, flicking the gun to the side. “Now. Unless you want to get shot too.”  
Upstairs, there is crashing and the shouting of frightened thugs. It makes Chase laugh, wild, almost hysterical. He understands that Jackie has come.  
“He found you!” he cries, pressing his head against Marvin's and letting his brother tumble into sleep against his shoulder. “We told you, didn't we? We told you he'd come. We told you we'd tell you nothing. And you want to spend your last moments of life killing somebody you've already tortured for days? Fuck, I hope God is real so he can damn you. I guess I used to think Hell was like all that fire and brimstone bullshit, but now I know different.”  
Markowitz breathes hard. His finger on the trigger. His pupils blown wide. The smell of his terror is delicious.  
“Hell is being kept awake,” says Chase simply, closing his eyes and listening to the sound of Marvin breathing, slow and steady. “And you, Mr. Markowitz, are never going to sleep again.”  
The gun goes off and Chase waits to die.  
But the bullet never hits its mark.  
Instead, it sits suspended in the air, unmoving, between Chase and his enemy, as though time has stopped for the fiery piece of iron.  
“What the fuck?” whispers Markowitz. He stares at the bullet, his jaw hanging open, until a small cough makes him whirl around.  
Jameson stands in the doorway of the room, looking dapper in a blood-stained suit straight out of the 1920s. He smiles coldly, holding up his little watch.  
Then he pulls out a knife and steps forward.  
Markowitz aims the gun again. Chase laughs to see just how unimpressed his little brother looks. “You really should have gotten the hint about my family when Marvin set this fucking room on fire spontaneously,” he snarks, reaching out towards Jameson. His little brother tosses him a spare knife obediently and Chase, with a relief so powerful it makes his chest burn, begins to cut Marvin down. “We're not really normal. And now, we're going to make you pay.”  
Jackie appears in the door beside Jameson, dropping the body he was dragging from his hand. Behind him, face covered, Henrik holds a dripping scalpel in the darkness.  
Markowitz pays.  
Chase should probably feel guilty for how much he enjoys seeing him suffer, but he doesn't.  
Marvin sleeps through the whole thing. Through the fight, through Jackie running to him, through everyone circled around them, distraught and worried. Through police sirens and a hospital visit. Sleeps and sleeps and sleeps.  
It's wonderful.

He wakes up to warmth.  
Warmth and comfort.  
He's back home, in his own bed, a pack of cards lying on the table beside him, while plants blooming all around him and the windows open to the summer breeze. There's a sticky note pressed against the wall above his head, covered in Jackie's messy handwriting.  
“I'm right in my room if you need anything. Henrik's watching out for you too. You're going to be okay. I'm sorry I wasn't there then. I'm here now. I love you.”  
Marvin smiles. Memories of what happened can wait. For now, he lies in warmth and comfort, dazed with fatigue and contentment.  
Chase lies beside him, breathing slow and steady. Safe and whole and courageous.  
Marvin curls up at his side, and he goes back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> There's a lot more of my JSE writing on tumblr at the same username, including several more short pieces like this and a multi-part fic that's now around 30,000 words. Come say hi or leave me a comment if you liked this! This was written in response to the prompt "Bud, you can't rest yet. Keep your eyes open." Thanks for reading! Sorry for tormenting the boy. not very sorry though :)


End file.
